


The Ties That Bind

by groundyonly



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 11:09:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1106108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/groundyonly/pseuds/groundyonly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Red is free from Anslo Garrick's clutches. But the ties, both physical and mental, remain. Set post S 1 Ep 10.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ties That Bind

Raymond Reddington sat with his back up against the concrete wall, his eyes closed, his breathing labored, forcing himself back into calmness as he felt every drop of sweat burn down his brow, and his back, and his chest. He tried to focus as his throbbing wrists reminded him that they were still bound, as his shoulders screamed at him that they hadn’t liked being pulled so hard as he’d hung in that cold, abandoned warehouse. He swallowed against his will, gritted his teeth as the razorblades of fever knifed his throat, as the nerve-enhancing drugs continued their wicked path through his body.

He sagged further toward the ground. He’d managed to exercise immense self-control while in Anslo Garrick’s clutches, so much so that his captor had been enraged at the apparent lack of effectiveness of the drugs. His body had trembled, and his temperature had soared, but Raymond Reddington had still functioned, still laughed, still resisted.

But once he was let down from the chains, once he needed to turn his attention to Mr. Fitch, once he understood that Garrick was only the tip of the iceberg, his focus had had to shift. And so the drugs started to have more power.

As they did now. Oh, how his head ached. He had barely felt the blow to his temple that drew blood originally, but now the sting of the wound was impossible to ignore. Every breath seemed so loud, every minute movement set off an avalanche of pain. _“I’ve always liked you, Red,”_ ghosted Fitch’s voice, an echo from their encounter in the warehouse. An affection Red could live without; or perhaps one that he could not. He pulled his eyes open against the memory. The air hit them, ratcheting up his agony another notch; he slammed them shut again, whimpered only once as he tried to steel himself against the drugs. Was it too late, now that they had started to take hold? A random breeze from somewhere further down the backstreets alley he had stumbled into whispered across his body; he gave a shuddering breath, and nearly wept.

With the uncharacteristic moment of despair came the glimpse of a memory. A name. A smile. A gentle touch. She flowed around him, caressed his mind and his electrified body. _You are forgiven,_ she soothed. _I am still here._

_I will never forgive… myself,_ Reddington replied. Conflicted between his want of comfort and his need for survival, he tried to push his mind into blankness. That voice, that smile, did not belong here. It was killing him hearing her, seeing her. Mental pain joined in with the physical made an unbearable cocktail he was being forced to swallow.

_“No,”_ he commanded himself aloud. He opened his eyes. They teared up immediately against the brutal attack of the gentle breeze, but he ignored it. He put his bound and shaking hands onto the uneven, tarred ground and pushed, gritting his teeth against the symphony of pain that played straight up his arms and forcing himself to stand. Dizzy from the effort, he practically fell back against the concrete, then immediately pulled away as the minutest of self-mocking laughs escaped his lips. He could not tolerate moving, but he could not bear to rest. Still, he knew he could not stay here, and so Reddington did what he always did.

What he had to do.

He blinked past the tears still streaming from his eyes and moved on.


End file.
